


The Captain's Wing

by 13Radishes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, First Meetings, M/M, Waiters & Waitresses, all of Kurasuno - Freeform, and characters, and nekoma - Freeform, art deco, eventually there will be more pairings, hot waiters, yup you heard me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:39:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13Radishes/pseuds/13Radishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This tells a story of one of the top restaurants in Tokyo. Of it's arching windows and marble floors, of it's staff and their adventures in this technicolour city. Of dirty back alleys, dive bars and exotic dancers. It tells a story of the flashing lights and bright eyes of beautiful young men, of the intelligent, hard working and steady. </p><p>It is a story of getting lost in all that consumes you. A fairytale laid out atop unyielding, grey concrete. Magic, brought by those perfect little moments when we forget anything else even existed.</p><p>It is a story of finding love, whoever you are, under whatever circumstances you may fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ohoho this started as an indulgent excuse to write the four Haikyuu captains as sexy bartenders/waiters in a sexy ass setting. It quickly blossomed into so much more. I can only hope I'll have the time to update regularly, but I have great hopes for this. 
> 
> To be clear, Ushijima is not one of the main characters in this fic, because even as I read the Haikyuu manga I feel like I don't know him that well, so I'm not confident to write him, other than that, please enjoy!
> 
> NOTE: This story is unfinished, and contains slightly darker aesthetics and themes to my previous works, I have chosen not to add any warnings. But if you read this and feel like triggers/warnings should be added, please do not hesitate to comment or PM me and let me know.

“Hey man you coming out tonight? Daichi still owes us that drink from the poker game last month~”

 

Lines ghosting the edges of muscles popped, as Kuroo pulled his T-shirt over his cockatoo hairstyle. He had claimed it to be his natural bedhead one too many times for anyone to believe him. Sticking up in all directions with the fringe over one eye looking like he spent ages on it every morning. Chucking the grey piece of fabric into his locker, he ran a spare hand through the black prickles, pushing it back to the side from where it’d fallen over his face as he leaned towards the mirror, blue-tacked to the inside. Fishing a sleek, black pen from the front pouch of his duffel bag, the same one he kept his books and practice gear in. His index finger pulled at the side of his eyelid, drawing a neat, thin line that flicked boldly at the edges.

 

“Would love to darling, but I can’t.  Ushijima’s got me figuring out some special menu for the VIP next month”

 

Oikawa’s tone was smooth and sweet as honey, words flowed so easily off his tongue when you prompted him. With his brown hair in it’s semi-natural curls and that classic pretty boy look of a mixed race baby, it was hard to imagine him working anywhere but the front line of this place. Though anyone that says so just hasn’t tasted this loser’s Tiramisu, or Mont Blanc… even something as simple as Baklava could be made into nothing short of a spectacle for the tastebuds, with the time and effort he’d put into it. He takes the longest hours out of all the key staff, and no amount of smiles and winks could hide the bags under his eyes without makeup anymore, because that was just the lifestyle of working at one of the best restaurants in Tokyo nowadays. Not that he regretted it though.

 

“I seriously don’t understand why you guys have to make such a fuss for this guy, who was he again?”

 

“No idea bro. Profile tells me he’s just some real estate guy’s son. Just flew back from America so he’s missing Japanese food. Not like I read the whole thing but eh”

 

Now this was a guy who’s haphazard hair was definitely not natural. Bokuto had made the general bad decision during his third year of highschool to bleach out the entire thing. After realizing that his greek god body (that’s right, better that Kuroo’s no matter how his teammates liked to rile him up about it) didn’t suit white hair, he grew it out. Then, _then_ realized he had an opportunity, an opportunity to look like his favourite animal since he was 5. With white tips and jet black growing underneath Bokuto simply swept his hair back with a little hair clay every morning, letting his hooded, golden orbs shine through with every overdramatic expression he made. Chugging a redbull with slightly sticky hands before he reached for his uniform, fiddling with the white buttons of his dress shirt like a 12 year old. Damn he hated formal clothing.

 

Just then the locker room door creaked open, and the man of the hour joined them, already snazzy and dressed in his white dress shirt, similar to Bokuto’s with a black waistcoat over it. The back texturized in a way that caught the light, calling attention to the atheletic curve of his lower back. He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the door, his hair short, black and kept, easily the most proper looking of all four men, and the oldest too, though not by much. The only thing that perhaps gave him an edge was the piercing though his earlobe, just one on his right, with a small diamond stud through it. A gift from his sister, and tasteful enough to wear at work. His sleeves neatly cuffed and just able to slide into the pockets of his slacks.

 

“Sup Daichi, how’re we lookin’ tonight?”

 

Kuroo himself should also be reading the guest list, because yes this place was so exclusive that they only got a good less than 100 customers, or guests, as they called them, for the 7 hours they were open for dinner a day. Each one with a name, and more often than not, a fancy profile of their status, food order, personal details they didn’t mind sharing. Quite a few liked to include sexuality and marital status as well, to Oikawa’s amusement. But truly, the only thing Kuroo really cared about was the drinks. And even to a qualified Sommelier such as himself who passed top of the class, memorizing the names of expensive wine in different languages, then learning how to say them, then making sure they get to the right person was a lot of work, not to mention lots of them he had to order specially for the guests, which takes time because the _damn wineries in Boudreaux_ don’t fucking speak Japanese. So, Kuroo preferred to hear the details of the people paying themselves, from Daichi, who’s only real work was profiling.

 

Besides, the primary job of the host is to know who’s coming through the door.

 

“Busy. But not too bad. that German lady’s coming tonight. Though this time she’s bringing one of her nieces with her, she’s given us specific directions to treat her well. Apparently she just graduated college. I hope you got the cake in the oven for that Oikawa”

 

The brown haired man with his chef’s coat half buttoned shot out his tongue and a peace sign. God knows what it meant but to Daichi it signaled that some way or another, it was all under control.

 

Daichi had the habit of running his mouth about the customers before they opened, it helped him remember things beforehand, and let all key floor staff connect with each other about the guests. Since they usually saw all of them, save Oikawa, it was important that they were all on the same page.

 

“Oh and Bokuto, we got a critic coming tonight so don’t screw it up,”

 

His gaze turned into steel as it fixed on the man checking his hair one last time in the corner of the room, head buried in his locker. Dress shirt now on and sleeves rolled up and fastened at his bicep with thin fabric belt buckles. The edge of the scrunched fabric exposing the edge of a navy blue and gold tattoo that just licked the tops of his forearms.

 

Bokuto shot up from his locker.

 

“I haven’t even done anything yet!”

 

“Chill. It’s probably because the critic’s alone”

 

The host nodded. Most people who had this much money to spare were often lonely, as fate would have it. So the restaurant also had a fully equipped, beautiful chandelier lit bar, where most of their single guests tended to sit after dinner, tended by the excitable owl himself. Now Bokuto wasn’t bad at his job, in fact, he was bloody amazing at it, with more technical skill than one would be tempted to give him credit for. He didn’t have a chef’s palate like Oikawa, nor the steady hand and deduction skills of Kuroo, but he had the stamina and cut throat work ethic to earn his place here. His naturally bubbly, infectious personality didn’t hurt either. Though a couple guests have said to Daichi, a little exasperated but not angrily, that Bokuto can be kind of overbearing at times, and in his excitement of the drinks he mixes, makes mistakes. Ones that ultimately aren’t a big deal, like adding a little too much Vodka into a martini, or serving champagne in the wrong glass.

 

The problem was he tended to beat himself up about it, moping silently about how he was undeserving of this place and bringing down all the customers with confusion, the regulars would simply sigh and try to encourage him. It took Kuroo to bring him back from hell at times like that, but Kuroo was a busy man, and so Bokuto was mostly left on his own to hold it together, A tough job indeed.

 

He puffed up his chubby cheeks, probably the only ounce of fat in his body.

 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve already got a drink prepared for him actually! Something he’s definitely never seen before, because I made it up~ This Amashi guy won’t know what hit him!”

 

“Akaashi. His name is Akaashi you moron”

 

“Whatever, I’ll go through the bar list again before we open.”

 

Daichi sighed, and the owl man went back to checking his hair for a few seconds, eventually flipping through the guest list, as promised. A piece of light reading material compared to the 200 year old looking textbook Oikawa had somehow procured from his locker, titled in some foreign language with multicoloured page markers all over it. He mumbled to himself as he read, with only the overhead bell chime to distract him when the clock struck 7.

 

“Alright men, it’s showtime.”

 


	2. The Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins...

The Captain’s Wing was rated to be the most prestigious restaurants in Tokyo, settling high on the 17th floor of one of the city’s many skyscrapers. The windows spanning from floor to ceiling as they panned in a curve around the aloof, marble titled masterpiece. The lift took you up to a set of double doors made from Mahogany, handles gold and extravagant that opened to a lobby. A small, dark room with black marble instead of the off-white in the dining area. Where Daichi was usually behind a podium, a vase of crawling, fresh flowers always the only dash of colour in the den staff affectionately called purgatory. Today their vines crept close to the floor. Two Armchairs sat in the side of the room, the tall fountain designs of the art deco era that inspired the restaurant made them look more like plush, green thrones.

 

Most of the guests had been booked in advance for months, save the regulars that they could manage a few days beforehand. There was only a handful of people who could drop by whenever they pleased, and even fewer that didn’t dine with the masses in the starlit hall beyond, instead opting for one of the restaurants two private rooms, the places where Oikawa’s talent as head chef was really put to the test, the people that have sat in these rooms were the 99% cause of the genius’s stress. And by extension, his reason to live. Thankfully, there was no one occupying those rooms on such a busy Saturday night.

 

You’d think this place would be really stuffy, probably clogged with soft classical music where every sneeze would initiate a horrid gasp and the flap of a silken handkerchief. But that was far from the case, Captain’s Wing was a merry place. Upbeat jazz and swing matched the clicking of red hot designer heels on the marble of the best escorts in town, the overtune provided by the steel heeled dress shoes Kuroo insisted on rocking to work, deciding that they go with the lip piercing he never got to put in at practice. The chatter was abundant as people laughed and smiled over the meal, which would, many a times be the sole object of their conversation, because that loser manages to be the star of the show without even being seen.

 

The final bit of sound came from the bar on the loft, the ceilings were high enough for two floors, but for those grand windows, only a balcony of a second tier was created, with a short, spiral staircase leading up to it. Glass steps and gold railings making you feel like you’re ascending to heaven. Where you are left in the horned angel’s care. His loud voice, cracked naturally over the sound of shaking ice becoming your world, with juices and spirits of all colours and flavours that’ll bring you to whatever astral plane you wish to be in. It was truly a wonderful place.

 

“Akaashi Keiji. Reservation for one at 8?”

 

“Welcome Akaashi-dono, my name is Sawamura, your host for the evening. Your table is just inside. If you’ll follow me…”

 

He gestured to the place of fun and cheer, the occasional shout overthrowing the music’s flow, melodies and gasps of awe to wholesome laughter, the place buzzing with a sense of joy and mystery. He could see why it had always been so highly rated, for it gave the young food critic and journalist chills to even be inside. To be honest he was never a fancy person himself, he knew lots of people back at the agency who burnt holes in his back for getting to dine here, but he was just happy to land another important story, another review of a great place he just couldn’t wait to write. Now he understood why they were so jealous, even on a superficial level as Sawamura pulled him a seat, wishing him well before he left. Before Akaashi’s eyes were even done admiring the view outside, the million lights that weren’t even part of this place, a clink of a glass snapped his head back.

 

Before him stood a tall, sultry man with a bottle in his hands, held with a cloth napkin underneath, “White. Chabli Premiere Cru 2010” the man spoke in clear, almost perfect English, with only a peppering of an accent, his smile curled in a way that Akaashi had to slap himself at for staring even a second too long, internally of course. He nodded, and the man proceeded to open the bottle in front of him, and pour, “it’s a pleasure to have you in our care tonight, Akaashi-kun” he chatted as he wiped off the bottle, and placed it in an ice bucket on a floater next to the table. Was that eyeliner? “please enjoy your meal.” He winked and bowed curtly before he left.

 

This place was intoxicating, yup, definitely intoxicating. That was the word, and that was to be the title of his review. He decided.

 

His view was only affirmed as he had his meal.

 

It wasn’t the look of the food itself so much as it was the taste. Restaurants like this had a bad rap of being all talk and no substance, a place for rich people to go flaunt their money and eat in mediorocratic silence. He now knew that the sentiment, the jealousy and trash talk were far from true. The food was no less than incredible, and he had uttered a small prayer in his head that the director insisted he come back a separate day to actually photograph some of the food for his article, as if he understood that the lighting wasn’t always the best in these scenarios, and was sharp enough to pick of on a background detail of importance, for a job that he didn’t even do. What was it he said again? Something about how seeds must be in good soil in order to sprout. Or maybe the wine was getting to his head already.

 

It wasn’t just how his fish melted in his mouth, with just the right amount of invisible fat, it wasn’t just how all the flavours in the sauce mixed to the point where you really couldn’t tell what it contained. It was the freshness of the leaves, and the stuble bitterness of caramel that his tongue knew was melted from the finest brown sugar, that led him to believe the chef was the one who walked the streets of the wet market on weekends, getting his hands wet, doing the dirty work himself. There was not a flaw to be had about food like this, and not a moment where he felt unsatisfied. Though he took notes, on a small notebook placed at the edge of his cutlery as he ate. The most astonishing thing about the food, was how he felt like he was tasting everything for the first time. He had eaten black cod and crème brulee before, he was a food critic after all, but these dishes made him feel as if he was trying something totally new because he never remembered it being _this good_.

 

It was like the chef had found some mysterious way to bring out every bit of an ingredient’s flavor, constructing simple dishes that were just prepared in the right way, with the slightest hand that made it taste so much more than it could ever be worth.

 

Watching from a distance, Daichi smiled to himself, knowing that the every so slightly shocked expression on Akaashi’s face meant he was only just introduced to what the culinary community dubbed the Grand King. As he was called, cringingly at his graduation, which he never truly let the boys forget.

 

“Think it’s going well?”

 

Kuroo slid up to the sturdy man, hands crossed as he scanned the floor, making sure no one showed any signs of need, everyone was happy and content, being served by the other staff or just in the middle of their meal.

 

“seems to be… but the riskiest part is yet to come”

 

The cockatoo sniggered at the mention of his friend like some sort of loose cannon. Sure he was unpredictable, but he was more dependable than he let on. Kuroo had known the guy since highschool afterall, he knew Bokuto better than anyone.

 

“Then we’re just gonna have to make sure he’s too drunk to care~”

 

He walked off to refill the critic’s wine, pouring low as white wine didn’t need to be aired before it reached the cup. He was a puzzling one, thought Daichi. When they first hired Kuroo the host had grimaced, because everything about him seemed to ooze troublemaker. He was persuasive in all forms and ways, light on his feet and intelligent to boot. Easy on the eyes with a voice deep, and as soft or loud as you’d want to hear it. All wrapped up with a Cheshire cat smile, Daichi didn’t have to pretend like the charm didn’t get to him at one point, like he could see it was getting to Akaashi. But it was only when he really got to know Kuroo outside of work, when they would be here on weekends togehter, that he realized the man was harmless. When Daichi looking over new settings and music for the floor, and Kuroo ordering, and reorganizing the dark lair that was the wine celler. He was studious, quiet, witty and good at what he did. Sawamura found himself respecting that stability.

 

But that didn’t stop him from keeping him on a short leash, especially when he gets too ahead of himself in his ‘provocation’ experiments, ending one night in a lady getting so flustered she spilt her wine, gloss shattering onto Italian marble while Kuroo’s lips hovered over her ear. 

 

Kuroo, to this day, _still_ owed him for the wrath of Ushijima Daichi had faced after that.

 

Perhaps, in hindsight, the intense bartender was a little less of a problem. Besides, Bokuto seemed calm today, from the last time he checked, that is. Calm Bokuto was really a sight to behold, when his mind and body are focused only on the drink he’s making, when he’s absolutely into the moment, that Bokuto, was a totally different person from the goofball they knew him to be. From the tacky idiot hooting at owls in the zoo. He was nothing short of an

 

 _Angel_.

 

The kind that greets you at the gates of heaven. Was the impression the critic had as he reached the top of the spiral staircase to the balcony bar. Gold falling from the skies in the form of the candelier’s crystals, reflecting like a million different spotlights onto the man behind the bar. Hands large and somewhat stubby to the arms that almost buldged out of his shirt. The man looked up at him, eyes matching the colour of the wine he downed piercing right through him, with a million watt smile that could have only belonged to someone from up above. His presence, so genuine was ever so demanding, that you couldn’t even see the emerald marble topped bar table, not the maroon leather stools with carved gold stands of vintage New York, not the variety of liquor on the shelves with every label from Russia to the pacific islands no. You could only see the white wings, spread out over all space, feathers loose and falling softly all around him, enveloping him in an angelic warmth the even best whiskey couldn’t give him.

 

Only to be broke by that voice.

 

“Akaashi-san! We’ve been expecting you, take a seat my friend”

 

He wasn’t formal like Daichi, or sneaky like Kuroo. Bokuto was casual, geaturing to a stool in the corner, far from the other customers chatting on the end as the bartender set a glass down onto the rack built into the worktop, behind the bar counter. Grin still ever present on his face like a gust of fresh air to him. His voice, a beautifully cracked tenor that went with the swing in the background. Akaashi hadn’t expected him to have that voice, he thought it might’ve been silky smooth like all the others he’d heard tonight, though he was different, a hidden bit of spice in this whole experience he wasn’t about to forget anytime soon.

 

“Soooo, how was the food?”

 

He came up to him, leaning over just a slight that rushed heat to Akaashi’s cheeks, perhaps he had been thinking about this balcony angel for a little too long than appropriate, he could still be an asshole, he told himself. Looks aren’t everything, and neither are smiles.

 

“it was good.”

 

And neither are laughs because if the young critic were to go by that then Bokuto would’ve really been sent straight from heaven, hearty and innocent with all the sincerity Akaashi never really felt growing up into a corporate world, a world full of pleasentries and fake smiles for a 5 star rating, for a few good comments and a chance to be top 10 on a list validated by some know-it-alls in Paris. He wasn’t all that great, not all that important, and even if he was, these places rarely ever treated him like a person. He was a machine, a robot, a level in a game the restaurants had to beat. Akaashi was a man of few friends, and his work was a good portion of his life. He never really went out to bars just for fun, he didn’t fancy getting drunk at pubs either. The only reason he didn’t really mind them for his reviews is that he knew there was a distinct line between him and the staff, they were trying to impress him, so he always held the upper hand. It was rare that anyone broke through it so quickly, pretended like that line didn’t exist, rubbing out that groove in the sand, to cross over and just _talk_.

 

“Yeah Oikawa’s a show off when he wants to be. Anyhow, I got somethin’ special for you so you just sit tight okay?”

 

Alas. Dreams crushed. So he did think about the review, made those preparations just like everybody else had done. The unusual hope Akaashi held in his head faded, he supposed that he had never been greeted in that way before, like a long time friend who was happy to seen him again. It made him warm, even if Bokuto was but a stranger behind a million dollar counter. He wasn’t one to harbor many emotions, and Bokuto, with a quick laugh had brought it out so close to the surface that he was this close to embarrassing himself. He looked up at the angel again, now just a normal person with quick hands, grabbing a bottle of dry gin off the shelf. He moved so easily, not ever thinking about all the glassware around him that could break, his arms bulky yet going exactly where he wanted.

 

Akaashi quickly realized it wasn’t anything flashy, in fact one could question if he made any preparations at all until the very end. Tonic water, Gin, a sprig of rosemary, all typical of a boring, safe classic. Slipping down to the fridge contained in the base of the inner bar counter, he took out a jar. Taking a pair of tongs, he pulled out a few lemon slices from it, round and perfectly even in size, dripping in some golden liquid. He laid them on top of the ice in the short, wide glass he’d chosen, adding a dash more Gin over. Bonze curling into the alcohol as he served it.

 

A Gin and Tonic. One of the simplest cocktails out there, could you really even call it that? Akaashi took a sip, skeptical after that let down, scrutinizing but equally interested, in what was so special about-

 

Oh.

 

Oh wow.

 

The flavor hit him together with the alcohol, a zippy, sour taste from the lemon to take the edge off the Gin, preparing the stage of the next wave of flavours, when cinnamon and a strong, encompassing taste of honey filled his mouth. It tasted one and the same with the acquired character the alcohol possessed, so it wasn’t like the bartender watered his spirits down or anything, this only added to it.

 

“That’s… that’s amazing.”

 

it slipped out of his mouth, and the gasp was almost unheard of, the look on the angel’s face sparkled like a freshly polished car as he exclaimed “Wait you really think so!?” he shook with excitement, throwing a hand behind his neck, “oh man I’m so glad, the lemons took me a week to make!” Ahh… fermented lemons, that was his trick. A simple, homemade cough remedy for kids, if Akaashi remembered correctly. Children who didn’t like the bitter taste of cough syrup, and instead ate these sweet treats soaked in honey, taking away the tart of the lemon itself. Perhaps the bartender was a rather uncomplicated man after all. Akaashi took another sip, and he couldn’t help but smile, not just because it was good, but because he was smiling too. Beaming, in fact, all the way until he had a call from the other side, going to mix another drink before returning, by then the critic had gone through half of the cocktail.

 

“So who’re you writing for?”

 

He asked when he came back, hands on his hips. Honestly he had mixed that lady’s drink a little faster than he could’ve, sure he was certain it was perfect, it was one he had done a million times after all, but still, it was fast enough for him to realize how much he wanted to talk to this guy. It would’ve been a lie if he didn’t admit how attractive he as, dark hair and eyes, that flawless complexion that Bokuto could stare at for hours, and plant kisses on for days, as the darker parts of his brain chipped in. He tried not to let that narrow aspect of one Akaashi Keiji overtake his mind, but it was a little difficult, given that he was right there.

 

“You should know already… I know the company gives my information out to the Restaurants I visit” His face looked a little irritated at the sentiment, so Bokuto rested his forearms on the counter next to Akaashi, leaning over and turning his head to look at him. “I don’t really bother reading those things. Meeting people organically has a whole different feeling you know?”

 

 “Y-yeah… Yeah I guess that’s true” he agreed, albeit shockingly, because again, he felt his mindsets conflicting. How aware was this guy? Was he picking up on his uncomfort, and lying just so he felt a little special, or did he really take the time to…

 

“I write for Tetler international”

 

“Woah Seriously!? Man that’s where all the rich people get featured”

 

A vein popped on Akaashi’s forehead to hear the magazine he writes so passionately for, described so crudely. It was a high end organization, that featured things, people and establishments that were at the very top of their game, Tetler was worldwide, and it was a hallmark of success to be chosen. Many countries have their national version, but Captain’s Wing had been going for the international feature for a while now.

 

Was this guy for real?

 

“You’re one to talk… You work in Captain’s Wing”

 

If Akaashi’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, the bartender’s cheeks, a little meaty now that he had a proper look at him, tinted pink at his words. He took his arms off the table in a quick laugh.

 

“I guess you’re right. We’re both at the top of Japan huh” 

 

“We’re only on the 17th floor…”   


Akaashi had barely whispered it, but Bokuto seemed to have heard it, his head throwing back in that cracked laughter.

 

“Why you gotta break my cool façade?”

 

He pouted a little, like he was genuinely hurt, and Akaashi dipped his head, his body shivering as he contained his own laughter at this amusing man. So far angelic on the outside in the most playful of ways, childish and uncharacteristically funny underneath.

 

“I’m sorry to break it to you, but your ‘cool façade’ broke the moment you grinned at me.” Oh he couldn’t help it, he simply couldn’t resist voicing just a little snippet of his thoughts. Of the rollercoaster of emotions he chose to ride when he sat in that stool. That face, that laughter and this drink making him all sorts of ways right now he wasn’t all too familiar with. But thankfully from Bokuto’s expression, he could see that he wasn’t alone in that, because his face went as red as a tomato, golden orbs blinking away in a flurry.

 

“w-what’s that supposed to mean?!!” He called gruffly.

 

“It means whatever you want it to mean…”

 

Akaashi looked away too, his voice a low, hesitant smoothness that was different from Oikawa’s singing tone, or Kuroo’s teasing one that he was used to, this was new, and even though it was talking down to him it was kind of nice. It was different, Akaashi was different. He knew he was a critic, Daichi had warned him so many times that Bokut ohad considered smashing him like an overzealous alarm clock. He had done all the could to prepare for this dude, to the point where all he could do was wing it when it happened and hope for the best. Though when he met him, past the initial impressions of how gorgeous he was in his grey button down and simple slacks. Yes, once he was past how long his eyelashes were and how his small, light lips framed his face. He begun to notice that Akaashi was actually blunt, and says the crudest things with the straightest face, this only got more and more harsh as their night went on.

 

“How’s that one?”

 

he would ask eagerly as he had the critic sample some new ideas of his, completely forgetting that only the best was to be served to this messenger that would give them to golden ticket to being world renounced. In the face of the meal that was prepared for weeks, to the Wine Kuroo spent hours probably brooding about, for it to end with Bokuto, mixing this beautiful Raven haired man weird concoctions he’d been thinking of in the spur of the moment… Let’s just say he was thankful that Daichi had a busy floor tonight.

 

Akaashi would drink, and more often than not make a face, “too diluted, I can’t even taste the whiskey”

 

Bokuto would do his usual pout.

 

And the jounalist’s heart would skip a beat.

 

“Well I added the same amount as the one before…”

 

“I think I just need more alcohol to deal with you as the night goes on”

 

The bartender would laugh, and sliding his arm onto the counter, he’d pour the whiskey straight into his glass from his other hand, hooded eyes sneaky and playful as he looked up at him from the counter, where he had bent himself over. He would, more often than not, catch the pink that tinted Akaashi’s cheeks at the suddeny closeness.

 

“Ohoho~ is my personality that infectious”

 

That scoff was enough to put him back in his place, and the little smile afterwards enough, to make him want to try again.

 

Bokuto loved every second of it, to finally meet someone who didn’t dryly cheer him on just to get rid of him, like his highschool team would. To meet someone who would tell him he was good and _meant it_ when it counted. It was a lot for him to hear, and Bokuto himself couldn’t put a finger on the emotion he felt but he knew it was new, new and wonderful and he felt like he would start drowning himself in the alcohol from his shelves if he didn’t get to see Akaashi again by the end of it.

 

So as the music died down, the clock struck twelve and Cinderella had to leave the ball, abruptly rising from her seat with all but a small wave to thank the prince for their dance. And Prince Charming himself, desperate to see his beauty again, ran out to the porch of his castle, down the ballroom steps, across the marble and past the shock looks of the guests. Ignoring their gasps and perhaps a few calls questioning his motives. He ran to see him on his way out the mahogany double doors, akin to the castle’s iron wrought gates. Catching the miracle beauty just as he was about to leave.

 

“Wait!”

 

the slender figure stopped, and turned around, thick eyelashes batted at him.

 

“I’m Bokuto, by the way. Uh… it’s been a pleasure to meet you, and even if it’s just a for a drink or something or anything please come by again” He moved his hands haphazardly, not having thought what to say before he bolted from behind the bar he manned. “I would love to see y- I mean! I mean we, _we_ would all love to see you again..” his voice dropped off to a mumble. As his arms folded inwards. The critic stared at him, and he, looking up grabbed a business card from the small holder at Daichi’s podium, scribbling in messy Kanji his name, and a mobile phone number. “Here! It’s a little easier to make a reservation for the bar only if you just call me, since I uh, run it, and stuff.” A thud sounded behind him, and he glanced back to see the pristine, white cards sprawled all over the floor, the holder tumbling against the marble to an unceremonious end, tucked by the base of an armchair leg.

 

But it didn’t matter.

 

It didn’t matter how mad Daichi was going to get at him for this beucase Akaashi, for the first time that whole night, non-ironically looked up at him, and smiled.

 

“Sure. Hope to see you again too, Bokuto-san.”

 

And with that came the ding of the elevator. The critic, with his long, little fingers so different from Bokuto’s, yet just as warm took the slip of paper and walked into the carriage that was waiting to take Cinderella away, just in time for midnight.

 

And as he faced the wrath of his boss, and the unending teases from Kuroo that apparently neglected his job for the night as well to hear the whole two hours in which the sliver tongued critic dragged Bokuto across the floor. He remained oblivious, to the slender man with wavy hair, who stared at his messy handwriting inside the solitary safety of that cold metal box, allowed his face to finally make the expression he had been trying so hard to constrain for the night. Who leaned on the side and fluttered his eyelids closed, letting his body press against cold metal that couldn’t wake him up from the cloud 9 he was on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chabli is a white wine, The type Kuroo mentioned costs about... 100 USD I would guess. and yes Kuroo speaks a few languages in this AU, enough to hold a simple conversation but he's not fluent in any except Japanese.


	3. Feline

He was so rattled he didn’t even bother to pick up the business cards he had dropped after Daichi’s knock on the head. His gaze fixated and yet, not really looking at anything as his feet took him by instinct to the bar. Pouring himself a glass of his favourite _Nikka_ whiskey, downing it, and refilling it before he started clean up. Letting that alcohol burn in his chest, he imagined how it ate at his heart, and hopefully would purge all the dimples Akaashi had put in it tonight. He knew, as a functioning adult, immature as he may be, that this was irrational, and at some point Daichi and Kuroo are gonna come upstairs and ask him how it went and he couldn’t afford to admit how shamelessly he had been hitting on him that night. He was a critic after all, and the more Bokuto thought about it, the more he became concerned that it might’ve been his fault, if they failed.

 

But all things considered, it was worth it.

 

As he took another sip, Akaashi’s smile came into his mind. Yeah, he reaffirmed, worth it.

 

The footsteps came and internally Bokuto was dreading it.

 

“Bro I dragged Oikawa out of the kitchen freezer we can go now-

 

He raised an eyebrow as he reached the top of the stairs, alcohol and hot girls, or guys… rather, seeming to flee from his mind for a moment at the look of his sad friend.

 

“What’s up?”

 

Bokuto sighed, and finished his second illegal drink of restaurant stock whiskey, worth just a smidge more than his salary could ever pay for but he didn’t care.   
  
“Bro…”

 

“Bro.”

 

“…Bro I met the most amazing person tonight”

 

“Bruh”

 

Kuroo’s lips curled into a smile, a sneaky, knowing grin that made him lean against a railing. The wise, wise knowingness of being this idiot’s best friend. Bokuto in infactuation mode was an interesting, rather low key Bokuto. He was usually loud and in your face about everything but once he likes someone, the gelled up hair on his head flops like velvety grey cat ears, as his intense personality goes into intensely thinking about them. He’s excited, but to the point where he overthinks it, as he overthinks everything.

 

“That’s a first,” Kuroo commented sarcastically, but not quite. Bokuto fell pretty hard and pretty fast, for people who usually… didn’t really care much for him beyond the jock on the surface. Past the dazzling smile and husky voice was a bumbling child who was excited about everything, an innocent, pure awe at the world around him which to Kuroo, and anyone else who knew the guy, cherished as his best quality.

 

Most people just couldn’t see that. And at this stage, you’d think owl brain would’ve figured out that not every pretty person who humours him is worth trying for, but alas, that idiot had way too much hope in the human race.

 

“Shut up man! They were different this time… “

 

He dragged his finger around the edge of his glass, “he had the most beautiful eyes… and, and he was a writer too” because at some point in the night Akaashi actually had a proper conversation with him about his life and troubles. Bartenders tend to bring out this side in people. There was just something about the cold green slate that you could say anything to, and then there was the angel Bokuto, who was all ears for them in that moment of rare truth.

 

“Then isn’t he too smart for you?”

 

“Fuck off”

 

“I will if you give me a drink”

 

Kuroo slid on over to the bar, a swing in his step like he always had when he worked. There was a definite aesthetic about the tall punk rocker, who could be very different depending on the side you knew him. Sporty like Bokuto, they had been rival volleyball team captains in high school, and beyond that partied like there was no tomorrow. Now in Bokuto’s final year in college, and Kuroo starting his masters, they were a little more toned down. Many more silent conversations tended to pass between them, especially when they were alone like this. An understanding Bokuto never really achieved with anyone else. They even had the awkward conversation, after a set of arguably less awkward drunken events, that they were not, _not_ each other’s type. They were too close as friends to really being anything more.

 

Which is what made Kuroo Tetsuro Bokuto’s go to for love advice.

 

Or in Kuroo’s mind, Bokuto’s love-at-first-sight rants about people who didn’t even come close to deserving his friend.

 

Bokuto poured him a drink though, so it was all good as he listened. To tales of wavy black hair and doe eyes that pierced him like icicles. How his palate was godly like Oikawa’s in which Kuroo couldn’t help but smirk and make a comment about how it’s like to get up and personal with that aspect of the… the critic?

 

“wait, wait wait wait you hit on the food critic??”

 

Bokuto went silent.

 

“Uh… Uh maybe…”

 

Kuroo shot him an irrediculous look, Head collapsing in his hand which shot Bokuto into a state of panic. Fuck he’d done it now, pissing off Kuroo was not only hard but suicidal. Which he why he truly felt spared when sniggers started to erupt from the hunched over body, vibrating his back as the sommelier quelled his laugher with his hands. “Oh god… oh god Daichi is gonna murder you…” he hissed out nearly in tears from how funny this was. Bokuto made a slight pout now, it was annoying to be made fun of.

 

“Hey, hey hey it’s not that funny”

 

“Oh yeah it is”

 

He didn’t want Oikawa to hear him and come upstairs, because that nerd will definitely snitch on him, well Bokuto really. And this would be so much more exciting if the receptionist had no idea. Soon Kuroo’s laughter died down, Bokuto attempted to slap him over the head, but he missed. Kuroo spun his motorcycle keys on a long index finger, gesturing for them to get out of here and get that much needed drink they were talking about before this whole fiasco.

 

Though he did say one thing to the lovestruck owl.

 

“Bruh. For all of our sakes, I hope he liked you too.”

 

It sounded like he was trying to be funny at first, a selfish comment that entailed Bokuto might have fucked it all up. But in all honesty, perhaps even his best friend wanted to hope, that there was someone out there who actually appreciated Bokuto’s personality, in the way he did. The right way.

 

 “So Sawamura, where we heading tonight?”

 

They had all changed before they left, it would be bad news if their uniforms had any sorts of stains or worse, _tears_. The cost to get a new one just had one too many zeros for Daichi to compute with his current pay. Oikawa’s was not so bad, since kitchen staff aren’t exposed to customers directly, but motherfucker just wanted to be fashionable. In his skinny blue jeans, slightly ripped at the thighs with tasteful grey high tops and a sea form green v-neck, the sleeves long enough to cover half his hands and his glasses off. For he wasn’t too fond of how they made his face look, so he tried to wear contacts whenever he could. A knitted, grey cardigan finished his outfit.

 

“How about the edges of Ginza? The bars there aren’t too loud”

 

Daichi was checking through his phone for a bit before he pocketed it into his navy blue jeans, darker than Oikawa’s and less skinny. His shirt was a pure white and dog tags hung around his neck. His leather jacket was fitted around his v shaped torso, the material pulling against his wide back. It’s black shining off the few spotlights in the reception room of the restaurant as they walked out to the lift.

 

“Feline? They got good draft there”

 

Kuroo’s suggestion, as he strolled into the lift, hitting a button for ground floor. Honestly he didn’t want to go too far, since he still had to walk back here once they were done to pick his bike up. Hopefully they wouldn’t get too thrashed, but so long as Bokuto doesn’t challenge Daichi to a drinking contest again, they should be safe. Kuroo had redone his eyeliner, sharp and jet black like his irises. He was simple, clad in a grey t-shirt and black skinny jeans with a black leather jacket, a long red scarf hanging open around his neck matching the high tops he had on.

 

“Sounds good to me!”

 

Bokuto was the first to trudge out of the lift, little spaces were not his thing, they boxed in all his endless energy and he couldn’t fidget or jump around like they could while they were walking. He had on dark grey jeans going with a light blue shirt, a casual grey suit jacket thrown over it for the chilly night as they made their way to the edges of Tokyo’s red light district, just about to get busy for the late nights. For the mystery and mahem to begin as the men strode into Feline, their usual place to unwind after a long day.

 

“and then he didn’t text me back for 3 days, 3 WHOLE days. Today my phone vibrated and I ran like a madman to check, just to have it be like. ‘k’. Really? He’s not trying hard enough if he wants a piece of this”

 

Oikawa rambled on about his latest love affair, in high school they had all heard, or known, that the pretty boy was popular with the ladies, but as he’s gotten older (he will hit you and tell you “I’m not that old!” if you bring it up), guys have started to notice his beauty too. Which is only makes it better for the prince. He continued to chat to Kuroo and Daichi, since Bokuto was in a bit of a daze, as they braced to loud chatter of the bar.

 

Feline was tucked into the corner of a side street, it wasn’t the cleanest of roads, but that was the price you paid for privacy. The inside though was always pristine, dimly lit with old fashioned iron lanterns suspended from chains. Tall black tables dotted around, where people huddled round to drink. Little cat candle holders as centerpieces glowed with the soul of a tea light placed inside it. A colourful selection of draft beers, as Kuroo had foreshadowed, lined the wood chipped bar table. Behind it stood a smiling stick insect, his sliver hair looking pink in the warm lighting, it was a wonder that he didn’t have to crouch to prevent hitting his head against the ceiling, or the alcohol racks behind him. A shit eating smile spread across his face as he saw Daichi.

 

“Daichi-san~! Good to see you again, what can I get ‘cha tonight boys?”

 

He placed his hands on the bar and leaned over, his tall, lanky frame looked like it was contorting in the tiny space.

 

“Get ‘em whatever they want Lev, on me”

 

Lev made a little O with his mouth, then proceeded to look cheekily at Kuroo, who shot him a smirk back, Bokuto giving him a thumbs up of victory at free drinks. Before they could get too excited though, Daichi whipped his head around.

 

“First couple rounds are on me, but beyond that you’re on your own,” he warned with a slight laugh, “I do not want to be responsible for getting you hammered”

 

“Sawamura for dad of the year 2k15” Bokuto pitched in from the side at he made his choice, earning him a shove from the raven haired man himself, who covered the bill for 2 IPAs, a stout and a cider.

 

“You know, we’re having a little show tonight,”

 

Lev made small talk as he pulled on the carved lever to fill a pint, his pale skin a ghostly white in comparison to the wood. “You guys are really lucky, because he normally doesn’t dance for us. Everyone’s been hearing that he’s bomb though.” The slight Russian accent irked at his voice, making his Japanese tones fluctuate a little more than they should. From what the regulars knew, Lev had lived in Japan all his life, not even speaking a lick of his mother tongue, though his slight way of speaking suggested he grew up with the accented Japanese at home.

 

“Who’s ‘He’ Lev-chan?”

 

Oikawa sang as he took his IPA, Lev had a tendency to rush through juicy stories like this, well it seemed juicy anyways, he always talked like everything was huge news, even though it wasn’t. And he always told them the most exciting part, leaving out just enough of the back story to have it make absolutely no sense. Which is why the master of information collecting tended to probe him. Lev reclarified,

 

“We’ve got a show lined up tonight. There’s been this dancer that’s suddenly performing at the clubs around Ginza lately, only does solo, only in back alleyways, even though manager says he’s way too good for small fry like us.”

 

The tall body leaned in further.

 

“He said that casinos, the circus heck any big time strip club’d take him, but apparently he’s not about that, no one knows why”

 

Bokuto looked around, there do seem to be more people gathered here today than usual. Not that Feline was a bad pub, it was just so secluded that you normally couldn’t find it just by walking by, which means… “He has fans, and I heard some of them are really weird but anyway…” his cat like eyes shifted left and right for dramatic effect. “They’ve been keeping tabs on where he’ll go next, and tonight it’s in our humble abode~” He finished, cut throat tone making him sound like some information broker about to break some private news, even though this was public knowledge at the moment.

 

“So what’s the superstar’s name?”   
  
Lev smiled even wider.

 

“Ahh his name is-

 

The blares of drums, steady, and slow, shook the glasses on the table, and Lev pointed to the stage up front. Feline, structured much like a cat’s body, was narrow and long, burrowing deep into the narrow basement crammed as a descending staircase between two other clubs, much more happening and loud with the tones of electronic music blasting from their speakers in constant competition. Feline was quiet, small and high for the underground it occupied, and as the dark hall came to an end there was a small stage, usually for a small jazz band, or the occasional guitar player. On saucier nights they’d have dance shows or some floor shattering soul music. Today a thick pieces of fabric, heavy like blackout curtains, hung from the ceiling. Falling like a cascade of blood that pooled at the floor.

 

A figure walked out, rather nonchalantly, no particular swagger or allure in his step. A small, lithe body that naturally arched, a tell tale sign of a dancer. His hair was violently blonde, pin straight and brushing the tips of his small shoulders, framing ridged collarbones and a long neck at looked up at the ceiling, almost as if he was checking if the ribbon was hung right. He looked to the crowd, which fell deathly silent, and blinked a couple times, a bored expression on his face, even a little annoyed, one might say. It was a little chilly outside, and there was no heater in the cheap pub, so he must’ve been pretty cold with his midriff showing under the cropped, long sleeved shirt. As he turned his body the glint of something gold caught the gents’ eyes. A bar straight through the dancer’s belly button, moving as he breathed.

 

“Bruh shit’s about to go dooooown” Bokuto whispered into Kuroo’s ear, having the raven haired man shove a hand in his face.

 

The figure held onto the fabric, twisting it around his arm and like he weighted nothing, hoisted himself up into the air, turning upside down with legs winding around the curtain, as the lyrics of the song began to play out. A sultry, low tone as the dancer began to spin around the ribbon like it was part of his own body.

 

_I left my girl back home_

 

_I don’t love her no more…_

 

Kuroo frowned, this song, he looked over at his friends, fixated on the stage in front of them for better or for worse, and Kuroo would be joining them too, there was nothing not to love about the little blonde, whether in awe of his skill or plainly… superficial. Though the lyrics had him reaching shakily for his pint, and taking a large gulp, the bitterness of that stout, black as the night and thick, reminded him where he was, and what he was now. He wasn’t there, not anymore, he tried to tell himself as the song rang on like a hymn to the life he wanted to forget.

 

_And she’ll never fucking know that_

 

_these fucking eyes that I’m staring at_

 

The dancer held the fabric by both hands, twisting around it, and in an impressive feat of his core muscles, lifted himself, and let the red rest between his legs, as they extended to the back of him, the spotlight making sure that you could see every back of muscle of his body tense with ease, and his head craning, to look straight from his position.

 

_Bring you love baby_

_I can bring my shame_

No. Kuroo wanted so much to look away, as the memories flooded clear as day back into his head, of that time… Of when he was a fresher and wanted to seem cool as the masses of newly free students indulged in what their hormones were telling them.

 

_Bring the drugs baby_

_I can bring my pain_

The dancer’s body coiled like a snake, constricting the red line of life, squeezing around it until blood could no longer flower, until the end of the ribbon lifted from the floor. The dancer curled it around his leg this time. Sensually letting his back rest against the tensed portion of the ribbon behind him, suspended in mid air.

 

_I got my heart right here_

 

_I got my scars right here_

 

And indeed, the more that dance accompanied this truly painful song, the more Kuroo saw smoke, the more he remembered the stink of those rooms, the beer and hard liquor, the strippers and the loud, booming music he all too soon wanted to back away and forget. Not because it wasn’t fun… not because it was the first time, he had ever confirmed what he thought about himself for so long.

 

_Bring the cups baby I can bring the drink_

 

But it was just the taste, of those lips.

 

_Bring your body baby I can bring you fame_

 

The sway, of that body, lanky, and just a little taller than he was. Blonde, and beautiful.

 

_that’s my motherfucking word too_

 

That he couldn’t shake from this song, twisting the knife in a forgotten wound.

 

_just let me motherfucking love you_

 

Kuroo Tetsuro thought he would forget, the lust of his college life that was Tsukishima Kei, but it looked like this song, of all songs had brought him back, to the raw pain that he had only managed to surpress under alcohol and cigarettes at the time. Older now he’d thought he’d quit, he’d thought it was so far gone than h wouldn’t be able to see it, looking back, but right now it hurt like salt on a fresh wound.

 

_Listen ma I’ll give you all I got, give me all for this_

 

Out the corner of his eye, he saw a flurry of movement, making him peel his eyes away from the black abyss of his stout, white foam swirling like the black hole he wanted to jump into right now. The dancer was a good 15 feet off the ground, curled in ribbon and in one motion, let go, almost as if he was jumping from the height he was at, the fabric bursting around him as he untangled himself, flying to the floor.

 

_I need confidence in myself_

 

Only to hang, face 1 foot from the ground, legs poised, and suspended by the taunt ribbon.He folded his body up, red between his legs,and as his head, big, cat like eyes half concealed by the wispy blonde, that had come loose from his hair tie, and veiled his face. He looked straight forward at the crowd. Kuroo’s eyes widened, not only because he was impressed, like everyone else in his room.

 

_I need all of it to myself_

 

But because that dancer, with his eyes like slits and his body upside down suspended in some strange way on fucking _Cloth_ , was staring right at him.

 

Unblinking eyes, boring straight into his.

 

And for a moment, Kuroo forgot to breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Wicked Games - The Weekend (I saw this on Tumblr as an inspirational/aesthetic song for Kuroo in general, and thought it would work perfectly with this). 
> 
> And yes Tsukishima and Kuroo have had some relation to each other, saying too much now would be spoiling it~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Chapter length is quite variable, I'm going with where natural breaks are in my work, so some are longer than others. I hope you guys understand
> 
> Anyway This is short but I don't think it lacks content because shit goes DOWN in this chapter

“Bro you okay?”

 

The cockatoo haired male whirled his head towards his owl friend, from the powerful hand he had felt slapping his shoulder. He looked like he had just been in a trance, with so many powerful thoughts surging into him at once, broken, or perhaps only deepened, by that piercing stare. He didn’t really know how to tell hi friend all this over the music, or how to put it in a sentence itself, actually. The dancer had long finished his routine, to a loud applause at the end. Even without that stare Kuroo had been frozen pretty much solid while the other three resumed their chat. Broken by Bokuto who was oddly more observant than usual. Maybe it was because he was the most used to Kuroo.

 

At this moment soft jazz filled the air, that red curtain still pooling on the stage suggesting that it all really happened. It was rare that the big black cat, always landing on his feet had the ground swiped right out from under him like that, but he supposed the best he could do now was cover it up, push it back down with a few gulps of alcohol, now tied to something, someone new, and smile it off.

 

A provocative, toothy grin that matched his silted, black lined eyes, giving Oikawa’s angelic pout a run of it’s money.

 

“and we’ve got to get a new set up for the restaurant next month, spring is coming and I was thinking of getting some vines planted along the window arches” Daichi was musing as he finished his pint, Bokuto sighed. 

 

“is there any time when you’re not talking about work Sawamura-san, c’mon loosen up!”

 

To be honest perhaps Bokuto just didn’t want to be reminded of the restaurant, and thus of that critic, at this moment in time. Avoidance tactics with a sliver tongue rarely ever failed.

 

And only picked up on by the ever cautious chef, who giggled. Though after shooting Bokuto a sly look, a you-will-tell-me-everthing-later look, he decided to side the owl, afteralll, he cared more about the food than the actual décor.

 

“He’s right Daichi-kun. You really seem like the kind of guy who’s never dated”

 

the man of the hour raised an eyebrow, and the cheeky sommelier joined in.

 

“you know, like one of those people who’s practically married to their work~ With no room in his heart for anyone else” Kuroo sniggered at his own comment.

 

Daichi had the grace to blush, though it was hard of see under the dim lights, he waved them off slightly, turning his head away from the table,

 

“I just haven’t found the right person is all…”

 

“well you’ve got the pick of the litter!”

 

Bokuto had chimed in, since as the other floor staff would note, there were many young female customers who gushed over the charming receptionist. The responsible man with a lowkey personality and big arms that were probably so warm to be in had them swooning. They were probably right too, since besides his anger, Sawamura was a genuine, honest person, with a natural instinct for taking care of others, as he did for all of them. Though his affection towards the restaurant and the floor staff was very professional.

 

And all three of his closest friends knew, that he really hadn’t found someone that could care for in a more, intimate way…

 

In a way that would actually make him happy, instead of merely proud.

 

Perhaps they pitied him, since for better or worse, the rest have all had the sting of relationships. All for massively different reasons, whether deliberate or by accident.

 

“C’mon Daichi-kun~ If you don’t get a girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever, then how am I supposed to rant to you about _my_ relationship issues”

 

“or lack thereof”

 

Kuroo snorted. Even though the chef was nortorious from jumping from place to place, he never really formed a solid relationship with anyone. It was always ‘oh I’m going on a date with this guy I met last week’ or ‘that girl from two months ago invited me to her Birthday party’ but nothing really… real. It was equally sad in his opinion. But he didn’t have a right to judge, for he was no better in that deptpartment.

 

“Even if I had a date, I’m sure your problems would still be petty Oikawa” Daichi responded with a small laugh, he wasn’t taking this too seriously. After all, this wasn’t the first time they had riled him up about the ‘girlfriend’ issue. “you guys are starting to sound like my relatives”

 

“We expect grandkids from you Daichi!”

 

Bokuto imitated in a creaky, old lady voice, rather loudly which made all of them laugh. Kuroo especially who was tearing up, downing the rest of his stout to fuel his enormous laughter. And as the charming owl worked his magic, it quelled his sorrows, at least, for a little while.

 

“I would grandma, but unlike somebody, I find sleeping around too much trouble. I kind of just want to settle down with the right person and be done with it”

 

“I don’t sleep with them! _They_ ask _Me_ for my number like 90% of the time okay?”

 

“You know Daichi-san” Bokuto started up, leaning his forearms on the table “You don’t really know how to find the right person until you try…”

 

“But-

 

“and heartbreak will only be a natural part of the process”

 

His gold eyes hooded, he looked up at the floor chief, a brutal honesty in his eyes like he needed to believe his own words. For his own sake, for all their sakes actually. Since Kuroo was leaning on the side of the table, sharp nails playing with the cracks, and Oikawa had turned away. The owl said it like it was plain as day, voicing the words none of them really wanted to admit through their tried and troubled relationships. Though he knew just like they all did, that it was easier said than done.

 

This was indeed, a tough time to find love.

 

Lev came by at some point, to serve them all a free round and tell them the bar was closing in an hour, Kuroo punched his shoulder in thanks, to which the bartender whined, but smiled his shit eating smile only seconds after as he left.

 

They soon eased out of that dark topic, picking their conversation right back up until Lev came back, telling them to gtfo, an acronym he had recently learned, and used with such a proud smile that Bokuto and Kuroo had to really surpress their giggles. Daichi heaved a deep sigh as they got outside, dealing with these children were in equal parts fun and exhausting. He still had to walk one to the train station too. “Night guys~!” Bokuto sang, just a little tipsy as he clapped Daichi on the back, heading back out to the bright city lights. The sommelier and the chef headed the other way. Oikawa for his car, parked under the skyscraper where their establishment nestled and shone in all it’s glory. And Kuroo for his bike, parked in an alley out back.

 

They walked together most of the way before Kuroo decided to take a shortcut round the building, all in silence enveloped by the soft, distant noises of gasoline and broken dreams on a Friday night.

 

“You know… You say you’re over him. But if one song can bring you back like that, then I don’t for a seco-

 

“Shut the fuck up, Tooru”

 

The smooth talker had the grace to flinch, at the sinister string of words that made their way out of Kuroo’s mouth. Biting with every bit of venom he often taunted, but never actually used. It was a good thing Oikawa knew him well enough, to see that this was just a mere defense mechanism… He could take the athlete on in a fist fight any day, and he knew it. He just didn’t fancy his face getting busted up. Since in some ways that’s the only thing he’s really got going for him, extraordinary palette excluded. He held his heads up by his sides in a playful surrender, and with the cunning laugh, disappeared straight down the road, knowing he was right.

 

As Kuroo trodded through the alley he knew it too.

 

He wasn’t that far from Feline, probably at most a block away, hidden in the maze of streets that tucked that special place away from prying eyes. In quiet, dark alleys littered with cigarette butts and beer cans. Where the scurrying of mice brought the sole instrument to the soundtrack of this lonely world, within the walls of this wonderland.

 

And it was within the cracks of this city, between the walls so narrow that reeked of piss that Kuroo walked upon this fateful encounter.

 

There was a small hoard of shady figures, which was not uncommon in these parts. With his tall, lean build and slouched figure, he could easily slip by them, ignoring them and most of the time, they would return the gesture. Be they pimps, or money launderers or drug dealers. Kuroo had no business with them, once in a while he might shoot one of the alley girls a wink, take the sultry smiles they gave out for free and put them in his pocket. But today’s gathering was a little different, there was distress, there was fear.

 

Around three men were closing in on a figure pressed against a wall, hood low over their face, and hands nimble and small, like a child’s, that gripped tight onto some sort of device. The three hoarding men were sniggering, and in a heavily accented Japanese, were in between threating and cooing at the figure against the wall.

 

“You think you’re so great huh shorty?”

 

“Ruining our business and our girls’ lives just cuz you think you’re hot shit”

 

“You ain’t nothin’ but a fag boy, and tonight we gonna show you that…”

 

The figures began to laugh, evilly, menacingly, with smiles on their faces that Kuroo could see from the side as he walked up to them. Hands in his pockets. As he saw on of the hands reach out for the smaller victim’s hood, grabbing it with an intent to pull it back, Kuroo quickened his pace. Just in time to shoot out his hand to grab the guy’s wrist. The the other two turning back to him, a mixture of shock and provocation on their faces.

 

“What do you guys think you’re doing?”

 

He asked in a low voice, definitely threatening, but slowly, mysteriously, like he dared them to challenge him, a dark aura rising from his taunt shoulders. The man grabbing the victim’s hood pulled himself away, shoving his arm out of Kuroo’s grip, and with two hands pushing him back, attention now turned from the figure against the wall. The man got up in his face.

 

“Listen ‘ere you piece of shit” He started off, and Kuroo was ready for it too, for the goons that stared at him and this guy’s cheap whiskey breath. He had intended to take them all on from the moment he saw them. He was stressed, and frustrated from that song and all memories of _him_ that a fight would only calm his nerves.

 

But he didn’t get he chance.

 

Because before he could ever back talk the loser something shiny, glinting in the single spotlight they were under came between them. The man was pulled back, small butterfly knife pressed against his throat, and hands held forcibly behind his back. The figure, still hooded, pressed behind him. Holding him somehow, in an amazing feat of strength that Kuroo would soon learn was not strength at all. The man tried to thrash around, but the moment he moved, he exclaimed in pain, as a cracking noise rang through the alley.

 

The hooded figure had grabbed hold of his last two fingers, as he secured them between him. Pulling on them as he tried to run. The goons looked like they wanted to jump this wallflower, until the figure, finally spoke.

 

“Move and I slit his throat”

 

It was a low, calm voice. A bored voice, one that had probably seen It all, yet sounded way too clean, too clear to be that of an elder. The goons stayed perfectly still. And Kuroo looked on as if time had been frozen, in this rapid turn of events that was only about to unfold even further in front of him.

 

“Leave”

 

The figure ordered, firm as he pressed the blade harder to the man’s throat, drawing just a few drops of blood, but enough to make the guy snap. “Okay okay I get it man! Holy shit I didn’t mean all of it I swear!”

 

And with that plea, the figure released him into the night.

 

Careful little hands stowed the blade away. Collapsing the metal into the wooden hilt, and placing it back in his back pocket, pulling back out from his oversized hoodie, that same device Kuroo had seen at first. A PSP?

 

“That’s pretty impressive shorty”

 

He drawled, looking on to where the thugs had run off. Of all the things he was not expecting tonight, from Bokuto’s sudden fancy to that heart wreching song to the dancer’s beautiful eyes. He was not expecting this, in a dark alley in the middle of the night, where a little vagabond knocked the wind out of some dirty thugs, and here Kuroo thought he could be the knight in shining armour tonight. Maybe a score with some fawning girl or boy was what he needed, though he turned out to be wrong.

 

The hooded figure cast his head down.

 

Silence

 

Eh. Wasn’t gonna stop him from trying.

 

“Assuming I’m not gonna threaten you like those clowns… Mind telling me your name?”

 

He leaned a little forward, smile a natural seductive and enticing, not that he meant for it to be that way all the time. His eyes matched with the eyeliner that was slowly chipping off. He had to wait for a good 30 seconds, a long, timestopping 30 seconds, before he got an answer that shocked the life out of him.

 

The figure pulled down his hood. Sleek blond strands, pin straight with a pool of black at his scalp, shook free from the fabric. A small, round face looked up at him and what Kuroo believed to be the most breathtaking pair of cat eyes he’d ever seen,

 

A pair he only so recently recognized, and had been burned in his memory from the first time he saw them in a pool of blood, taking away years of pain for the few seconds he so much looked at him. In that cloud of sour, no, bitter memory, in the fog of shame and heartbreak, those eyes shone through, like a requiem to the sinner Kuroo couldn’t deny he was.

 

The eyes of the sultry dancer.

 

“Kenma. Kozume Kenma.”


End file.
